


Continuation of Can I Quote You On This?

by Ragingstillness



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anti Team Cap, Author is a bit bitter, Christine Everhart is a good friend and journalist, Civil War Team Iron Man, Gen, I'm not vehemently anti-team cap but I can have my bitter moments, Increasingly psychotic Team Cap, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, and a huge fan of the writer I'm gifting this to, like they start out deluded and then I take it wildly off course, no beta we die like men, not team Cap friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:59:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17777540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragingstillness/pseuds/Ragingstillness
Summary: Continuation I have written with permission of a fantastic story written by Wix.





	Continuation of Can I Quote You On This?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wix/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Can I Quote You On This?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13102035) by [Wix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wix/pseuds/Wix). 



> This will not make sense unless you read Can I Quote You On This? by Wix. Go check their work out, it's all amazing.

As much as Christine wanted to immediately write the article and reveal the truth to the world, the sheer nausea generated by listening to the recorded interview slowed her progress. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Whenever she collapsed onto her bed at the end of a long day, she saw Tony Stark’s eyes. Deep brown, blank and sad. He looked like a puppy in an ASPCA commercial. And like those puppies, Tony was clearly an abuse victim, emotionally if not physically.

A feeling located somewhere in the middle of Christine’s chest urged her to return to the Compound, scoop Tony up in her arms, and carry him out. Lay him down on some blankets and keep him safe from harm. But she couldn’t. He was a grown man and he made his own choices, not a child she had to mother. But she didn’t feel like Tony’s mother; she felt like his friend. And as his friend she couldn’t help but worry about him.

Rogers had tried his level best to assure her that the witch had “changed,” and that Ultron was “Tony’s idea.” But it wasn’t fully, was it? Bruce Banner had been just as party to the events surrounding Ultron and had worked with Tony on the cyber-system. But his absence from the planet kept him from any sort of persecution.

Nevertheless, she doubted Bruce had been hated during the Ultron incident for his role in its creation either. And it was hatred. The others did not merely dislike Tony after the incident, they held violent hatred for him.

Barton, Romanov, and of course Maximoff hated Tony. Rogers was too naïve to see how he was hurting Tony, and Wilson was a follower, plain and simple. Vision was being used as a monument to Tony’s “failure.”

It was painful to see how Tony reacted to Vision in the press conferences following Ultron. He was drawn to the android, likely because of the code within him that represented the remnants of Tony’s closest friend. But then his eyes would catch on the stone in Vision’s forehead or Maximoff would sneer at him from across the room and his head would drop as he inched away from Vision.

It wasn’t as if Tony had anyone else to defend him either. His ex-girlfriend and eternal friend Pepper Potts was up to her ears in PR and paperwork, trying to save their shared company from the fallout of Ultron.

One of Christine’s colleagues had been scheduled for an interview with Miss Potts one afternoon but when she’d arrived at Miss Potts’ office, she found the famous CEO asleep at her desk, her hair falling from her ponytail, her suit jacket wrinkled over the back of her chair.

The reporter had noticed a small open filing cabinet in the corner of the room, as if Miss Potts had opened it and then forgotten she did. The reporter, being, well, a reporter, crept over to take a look and found the cabinet contained a soft blanket. With a rush of sympathy, the reporter had picked up the blanket, covered Miss Potts to her shoulders with it and left a card on her desk before closing her office door.

James “Rhodey” Rhodes was ensconced in military talks, trying to settle the matter of Sokovia without violence and was up to his ears in mandatory meetings.

Thor had taken off to space before the fallout really arrived so until Tony created an intergalactic phone connection the Thunder God was MIA.

So, Christine thought, who did Tony have left? His bots? An echo of JARVIS who had his own life now? No one. Functionally, Tony had no one. No shoulders to cry his grief on, no one to vent his unhappiness to, no one to stand up for him.

It was in Christine’s nature to seek out the truth, to know as much as possible so she could suss out the real story before publishing to roaring accolades. But this was one story she almost didn’t want to publish. It was just so distressing. No man as alive as Tony Stark should be reduced to what he was when Christine had last seen him.

She thought back to their brief night together before he became Iron Man. How he was so passionate, reacting to her every move with a fun little twist of his own, how he laughed through their encounter and while he had left her alone in bed the next day, he had done her no other discourtesy.

That brought her back to her own article. Her editors were begging for even a tentative deadline at this point. Christine was conflicted. She wanted to publish it in a rush of anger, echoing how she would react if given the chance to take revenge on any abuser.

But, as in her imaginary situation, if she dared to make the information available to be judged in the court of public opinion, would it not just make things worse for Tony? She had no doubt the other “Avengers” would blame Tony for what they saw as his part in this. The way he was crushed now, he’d fold like paper before a request to refute Christine’s words. And her work would be for naught.

Tony had to get to a place, emotionally, where he could weather the storm, stand his ground and clear the others from his space. With this in mind, Christine shot Tony an email. Following their second ever interaction, the one which Tony followed by flying straight away to Gulmira, he had given her his personal contact information. Her message was short and as bland as she could make it. She didn’t want to believe the others would read Tony’s personal messages, but she couldn’t risk it.

The message was an invite to dinner. There was maybe a bit of a flirty edge in there too, to dissuade assumptions that she would be interviewing Tony one-on-one for his side of the story.

The Avengers’ power dynamic only held up as long as Tony was kept on the bottom rung. If he found himself back on top, or, even better, burned the ladder to dust, their darker sides would come out naturally and they’d flounder, and everyone would know.

Christine went for a coffee, sent a vague email to her editors about her article, and spent half an hour people watching. After that she returned to her apartment and began violently refreshing her email until finally a response arrived.

Christine let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding when her eyes alit upon Tony’s positive response. He would attend, but he had a curfew. Christine internally scoffed. What was he, an irresponsible teenager? Nevertheless, she had three hours in which to bring Tony into her confidence, and maybe, just maybe, give him the first good company he’d had in a while.

Christine went simple for the dinner, picking out plates and setting them on her coffee table. She ordered in sausage pizza, covered it to keep it warm, and lowered the settings on her lights to “comfortable but not sexual.” She placed her copies of the Die Hard movies and Fight Club in pride of place near the TV.

A nondescript black car pulled up outside her house exactly on time. She peeked out her window and saw that Tony was not driving but Rogers. Rogers beckoned Tony to the driver’s side window, and it hurt Christine to see how quickly Tony went, whispered something in Tony’s ear, got a nod, then Tony was pressing the button for Christine’s door.

She buzzed him up and greeted him at her door with a short hug. He seemed startled but not afraid. They made basic small talk for a moment, Christine unveiling the pizza to Tony’s delight and directing him to the couch. They both settled in, pizza and wine arrayed in front of them.

“Do you have a movie preference?” Christine asked.

Tony ignored the movies she’d set out and flipped through her collection to find The Blues Brothers. It took until the country bar patrons were flinging beer bottles against the chicken wire protecting the nonchalant brothers for Tony to start speaking.

“Why am I here?”

Christine took a sip of her wine and considered several witty responses before settling on the truth. “I wanted you to be here.”

Tony picked up on the subtext quickly. “Because you didn’t want me to be _there_.”

Christine nodded. Tony sighed and leaned deeper into her couch.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Christine. They’re angry, and rightfully so. When all of this blows over we’ll go back to how we were before.”

Christine rolled her eyes outside of Tony’s field of vision. She set her wine on the table and drew her legs up, facing Tony on the couch. “And how were you before? I was never the primary source of Avengers coverage in the past but considering how things are now I doubt the way you were before was all that healthy either.”

Tony laughed bitterly. “Since when have I been a paragon of health anyway Christine?”

Avoiding the question. Tony leaned forward and picked up his wine. He swirled it around in an instinctual movement, not really trying to savor Christine’s cheap wine, just to stall for time. Christine pressed forward.

“You’re longing for something that won’t happen. And I think you know it. You’re Tony-Freaking-Stark. A genius. You’re far too intelligent to not know in your heart of hearts that this situation is far from ideal and it doesn’t show signs of improving.”

That was a risk. There was a high possibility that Tony would fall back into the conditioning the others had put him through and Christine had several backup plans. But there was still enough left of the man Christine knew to set his glass on the coffee table and tip his head back, hands over his eyes.

Christine let him collect himself, sipping her own wine and watching as Carrie Fisher blew up the rooms where the brothers were staying. She saw Tony remove his hands in her peripheral and turned back to him.

“Christine…” His voice got softer as it went so to her ears, he almost called her Christie. She hadn’t heard that since she last called her mother and it was oddly moving to hear it from Tony.

Christine met Tony’s eyes, allowing her indignation on his behalf and her fierce support to show in her eyes. That was the last straw.

Tony melted against the couch, his head accidentally falling onto Christine’s shoulder. He tried to move back but the consistent look in Christine’s eyes stopped him.

“I’m…Christine, I’m so tired,” he breathed.

Christine made a soft sound of sympathy in the back of her throat. She brought up a hand and tentatively set it on Tony’s head. When he didn’t flinch away and his breathing stayed normal, she began to stroke over a few strands. She heard Tony’s teeth grind together but as his outburst began, she realized it wasn’t her actions that were causing the sound.

“They’re driving me insane! I know, I know, _I know_ Ultron was my fault. I know that. So why do they need to bring it back up? God knows I have a metric shit-ton of triggers already, I don’t need more. Why remind me? Do they think I’m stupid? Do they think I could ever forget?”

Tony brought a hand up to cover his eyes again, his teeth bared in a snarl of pain. “I have memorized the names of the people Ultron killed. Do they think I don’t run through those names like I’m counting morbid damned sheep? I’ve had like five panic attacks in the last three days alone. They let that witch wander around the compound like she never hurt me, like she never trapped Thor or Cap in their own minds like she did mine. And I’m scared. I’m terrified of a 22-year-old and she knows it. I’m on edge constantly. I practically sliced my own hand off the first time Barton broke into my lab to prank me.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“When I had my latest attack, it was Rogers who saw, God I was so embarrassed. And he just came over and patted me on the head. Like a dog! Like good little Tony I’ll just pat you and maybe you’ll calm down and go back to listening to orders properly. When the witch triggered one a while ago, she just sat there, she just SAT there and watched as I fell apart. Watched and laughed and called me so many names. I can’t remember when she left, just waking up in a pool of my own vomit and tears.”

Tony’s next words preempted Christine’s instinctual questions.

“I tried to go to someone with it, I tried Sam, he was a VA therapist, I thought maybe he could help but he didn’t believe me. The witch had passed some story around about how she’d defended herself against an attack I made. I was locked in my room without my electronics or access codes for two days. I’ve never had so many attacks back to back in one day. I can barely even tell if they were back to back or if it was just one that kept cresting and falling and cresting and falling and…”

Christine could feel Tony’s breath getting shorter, his body starting to shiver as he fell into another one of the attacks he’d been mentioning. She drew back to meet Tony’s bloodshot and eyes and seized his hands. She pressed her thumbs into his palms rhythmically, centering him on the sensation.

“Tony, you’re having another anxiety attack.” His breath got faster, and he looked away. “Hey, hey it’s ok. I get them too.”

Tony’s head snapped back to her, astonishment breaking through the blankness. “I’m an investigative reporter. I’ve been in some pretty horrendous places and seen some terrible things. Sometimes I think I’m back there. I had flashbacks and anxiety attacks and medication for them. I understand. Anxiety attacks, panic attacks, you name it, they don’t make you weak. They mean you were strong enough to survive whatever had happened. The fact that you remember means you’re in a safe place now and starting to heal.”

Tony’s eyes got clearer, but then some other horror snuck upon him and he started hyperventilating. Christine pressed her thumbs harder into the center of Tony’s palms. “Can you speak for me Tony? Nod if you can speak?”

Tony nodded.

“Ok. I want you to keep your eyes on me, stay focused on where you are. Now I want you to tell me five things that you feel.”

Tony had to shake his head a little to clear it, but he gasped out the chopped-up words anyway. “Y-your, your, hands. Warm. The c-couch. Uhhhhh, my phone, in my pocket. My, my shirt, against my skin.”

“One more Tony, you can do it.”

“My Stark Industries socks.”

Christine giggled. “Very good Tony. Now can you tell me four things you can hear?”

“You, your voice. The music, fr-from the movie. The air conditioning. Your refrigerator.”

“Perfect. Now three things you can smell?”

“Pizza, wine, and your perfume.”

“Two things you can taste.”

“Sausage, wine.”

“One thing you can see.”

“Your apartment.” Christine nodded. Tony’s breath had evened out and he sank into her, his body melting, the sensation originating from his hands, falling back into his previous position on her shoulder. He breathed deeply into the silence until finally he muttered, “I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was in quite the bitter mood and was so inspired by this story and all of Wix's other works I had to elaborate on this and support my bizarre brotp.


End file.
